


All kings, all their favorites

by havisham



Series: The Nargothrond Series [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cousins, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, he touched Finrod’s chest, lightly enough to startle. “You will not regret this,” he said. </p><p>That was his first lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All kings, all their favorites

He was most like his father. 

From his father, he inherited a silver tongue that can twist words as easily a blade of grass. From him, he learned how to make metal sing like they too had words. Often, he suspected that there was nothing original about himself at all; his brothers all had their individual talents, and as fractious and divided they were, they could at least lay claim to something that was wholly theirs. 

Not so Curufinwë Atarinkë. The best that could be said about him was that he was a true son of his father. But -- his father _was_ the best. So _that_ was all right. 

“I am my father's true heir,” he boasted, at some feast or other. Smirking, his posture straight and proud. He watched with avid joy as Maitimo's jaw tightened, though his eldest brother said nothing in response. 

(As it turned out, he was wrong. They all turned out to be their father’s sons, to the last man. But this was before.) 

\+ 

He married, hurriedly and without much thought, to a girl his father had -- _picked out_ \-- had suggested. His son came soon, and his wife faded back into obscurity. Poor woman, he never thought of her when she was out of sight. 

The boy, he presented to his father. He was proud and a little self-conscious, aware of the bit of porridge that was dribbling down the baby’s mouth. But his father smiled, and said he had done well. 

He held the baby tightly, happy. 

When his father departed, he gave Telperinquar a cautious pat on the back. And child vomited, all down his workshirt. No matter. He handed the child back to the nurse, not hurriedly, but definitely. 

“Make him presentable.” He went back to work before she could respond. 

He always had so much to do. 

\+ 

And the years trickle away like this. 

There was exile and death, an Oath sworn in a blaze of torches. Death, piled upon death. He didn’t regret it. Not any of it. He served his father as faithfully as he could. He never had doubts.

His step never faltered, they were always a moment behind his father’s. 

When his father ordered the ships to be burned, when Maitimo turned aside, he snatched ther touch from his brother’s faltering hands. He burned the first swan-ship. 

The smoke made him cough, made his eyes water. 

He barked for someone to bring him water. 

+  
 _Curufin_. A new name for a new land. He found that he liked it. It was as sharp as he would have liked. He also found that intrigue came naturally for him. Plots, treasons, stratagems, all piled up outside his forge. He could root through them when the time came. 

Crafty, skilled, why pick? 

He was both.  
\+ 

Finrod was not a fool. Or, he was not _so_ much a fool as one might have supposed. 

It was not for kindness only that he welcomed his cousins to Nargothrond. 

He could have, after all, refused to harbor them when they had come, broken and battered, to his door. He could have remembered the deaths of his mother’s people at their hands. 

His cousins, after all, had never confessed any guilt for their actions. 

Certainly, Finrod’s brother, the ineffectual one, the one everyone forgot about, felt that such people should not be allowed to stay. 

But Finrod was magnanimous. “You and your people are welcome here for as long as you’d like,” he had said, a sweet smile on his lips. Celegorm accepted this only their due, but Curufin did not. Instead, he bowed his head in acknowledgement. 

Later, he touched Finrod’s chest, lightly enough to startle. “You will not regret this,” he said. 

That was his first lie. 

+  
He grew _bored_. 

And Finrod, Finrod was lonely, though he hid it well. He used his good-cheer as armor, but Curufin had always been excellent at spotting (testing, breaking through) weaknesses in such things. He was ruthless at the sight of weakness, he always was that. And the idea came upon him as to how solve both Finrod’s loneliness and his boredom. 

\+ 

“It’s wrong, what we do,” Finrod whispered in his ear. “You are married and I …” 

“Hmm, interesting opinion,” Curufin said, trancing vague lines on Finrod’s hot skin. “I am indeed married, but my wife and I were estranged, long ago and that girl you liked...” 

“Amarië.” Finrod said her name with a sad sigh. Beautiful, circumspect Amarië, who chose to stay in safety, whose memory was to be dragged out when Finrod felt especially maudlin. Finrod said, "Sometimes, _sometimes_ , I think I've rather put her on a high pedestal." 

"Truly?" Curufin’s tongue flicked out, his lover shivered at his touch. He pulled Finrod down into a hard kiss. 

+

Curufin wrapped a finger around a lock of Finrod’s silver-gold hair. Musingly, he said, “If Father had but asked _you_ for a lock of hair, rather than your sister, perhaps all of this could have been avoided.” 

Finrod turned to face him. He said with a trace of skepticism in his voice, “Why would I say yes when my sister said no?” 

Curufin smiled, for the answer was easy. “I would have asked you for him.”

"Oh." 

 

\+ 

He was careful not to let his consternation show. “It is your kingdom, of course. You may throw it away, if you’d like.” Finrod made a noise, half-way between a sigh and a laugh. 

“You speak as if I have a choice.” His jaw set. “I have my oath, as you have yours.” 

They had never spoken of the Oath, not directly. 

Finrod spoke sharply, as if to convince himself as well as Curufin. “I have no choice in the matter.” 

Quickly, Curufin said, “Neither did I.” 

“Our situations are not the same...” 

Curufin found himself being pushed, and he pushed back, hands digging into Finrod’s robe. Without wanting to, especially, he was undoing the ties, pulling the robe down. To his vague surprise, Finrod was doing the same to him. He hissed, breathless, almost.“I offer you the truest advice I can give to anyone, cousin. If you follow the mortal on his path, you shall fall with him.” 

His voice faltered, he was the image of regret. 

Finrod’s mouth was warm against his skin. His back bumped against the wall, he felt the sting of his bare back rubbing against stone. Finrod’s voice was muffled when he said, “It is _not_ doomed to failed. If I could -- If _we_ could...” 

Finrod never understood. Curufin’s arms snake around his cousin’s waist, and pulled him close. “Oh, Ingoldo, you never understood it, did you? Purity won’t save you. You’re as doomed as we are.” 

_As I am._

“I’m not very pure. Anymore.” 

“I suppose I’m to blame?” His hands traveled down to Finrod’s narrow hips, jerked them towards him, as he sank to the ground. 

"No, but I am grateful --" The rest of Finrod's words were swallowed up, and for that _Curufin_ was grateful. 

\+ 

It is later, Curufin swore to find a way, swore to Finrod, to anyone, that he would find a way out of this. Finrod nodded, said he believed. 

Finrod was kinder than he was wise.

"I will find a way," said Curufin. He pressed a kiss upon Finrod's forehead. A benediction. 

+

But the next day, Curufin stood with his brother, and denounced Finrod. 

 

No one was very surprised.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that Celebrimbor sort of disappears half-way through this. I'll have to cop a Kate Beaton style _[WHAT BABY](http://harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=259)_ plea. He's obviously in the forge, diligently working, when all of this drama was taking place. We should all be as hard-working as Celebrimbor.


End file.
